


That guy at the bar

by tcourtois



Category: Football RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:16:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcourtois/pseuds/tcourtois





	That guy at the bar

He was possibly the most attractive man that I had ever seen in my life, but I had lived a very sheltered life. Working at the hotel was the only thing that ever gave me any excitement. Sometimes we would get famous people come to stay. Rio was a tourist hot spot, and even more than ever now, as Brazil is hosting the world cup.

“Beatriz! Can you go and man the bar please, there are people waiting to be served.” My manager shouted at me. I rolled my eyes when she was out of view so that she would not see me, and then I had to walk up to the bar where he sat.

His face was like thunder. I mixture of underlying aggression and annoyance.

“What can I get for you? You look like you’re having a bad day.” I asked, trying to make some cheerful light conversation.

As soon as I’d said it I thought that I probably shouldn’t have mentioned that he looked pissed off. He’d probably had more than just a bad day. He looked like he’d gotten out of the wrong side of bed and then some.

“Well in a few hours I have to get on a plane and go home because my team just got knocked out of World Cup.” He said.

“Oh well that sucks, did you have tickets for the quarter finals or something?” I asked, as I wiped the bar because I had nothing else to do, he hadn’t told me what he wanted to drink and I was no good at guessing. I only hoped that he didn’t ask for something complicated because I was clueless when it came to mixology.

“Something like that. Could I just have a jack daniels and coke please?” he asked, and internally I sighed in relief that I just had to use the optic and open a can.

I managed to get a glass without knocking any others, filled it at the optic and then opened a can of coke to top it off with. I could feel his eyes on me as I did this, watching every move that I made, before he spoke again.

“What’s your name?”

“Beatriz” I answered.

“That’s a pretty name. How do you think Brazil will do in this world cup?” he asked as I put his drink down in front of him.

“I don’t think that they will win it. The team does not have quality in all areas, they are not like Spain in 2010.”

He looked sad at the mention of Spain and that glory, and I realised that they had been eliminated, and that was probably his team. I only paid real attention to football at World Cups and whenever my father had the football on.

He looked up from his drink and smiled.

“Beatriz! I need help carrying the crates of beer up from downstairs.” One of my colleagues called to me. I rolled my eyes. The guy I was serving at the bar caught me doing it.

“Not really a helper?”

“Oh I help, I just hate not having a proper role here, they just get me to do whatever is needed and I don’t feel important. I’ll be back in a moment. Excuse me.” I walked around the bar to the back room and walked through, by the time I got there James’ arms were full of crates of beer.

“I’ve got it.” He said, although I couldn’t see his face over all of the boxes. I went over and took the top one from him.

“You could have dropped all of these and been in trouble.” I sighed.

“You sound like the managers, maybe they’ll promote you.” He laughed, putting down another of the boxes, then the others one by one.

“I’d better get back to the bar…” I said.

He started laughing at me.

“You do know who that guy out there is don’t you?”

I shook my head.

“That’s Iker Casillas, you know, the footballer? No? Spain’s goal keeper…that’s why he looks so pissed off. They’re out of the cup and everyone is blaming him.” He shook his head at me for my lack of football knowledge. “I wouldn’t try anything though, he probably has a smoking hot model waiting for him at home.”

I swatted him on the arm and then left him to unboxing the beer bottles.

I walked back out and he was gone. Iker the goal keeper was gone. Where he had been sat I saw some pieces of paper. He’d paid, and left quite a good tip. It looked like someone had issued him a receipt but I couldn’t see who had served him while I had been in the back. I had only been gone for a minute.

I turned the receipt over and there on the back, writing in tiny scrawl was a number. If I had to guess, I would say that the odd number combination was probably a phone number.

I discreetly pocketed the receipt, and put the rest of the cash, aside from the tip into the cash register.

“Beatriz, one of the maids is sick on the fourth floor, you’re going to have to take over.” My manager barked at me from across the room, but even that could not erase my smile.


End file.
